


Realization

by Victorian_Chik



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorian_Chik/pseuds/Victorian_Chik
Summary: Sequel to Reckoning. After Gil's punishment, Malcolm has trouble working through his feelings and acts out in escalating defiance. Warning: spanking of an adult, references to drug use.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	1. Escalation

I still have no idea what happened that night. Or the next morning. I wasn’t even sure which was more confusing, the night or the morning.

I’m supposed to be this highly-attuned, near-genius profiler who sees patterns and connections in human behavior, and I do see them all the time, but I’m not great at understanding what has happened to me on a personal level.

Or what is happening to me.

I regularly blame my childhood trauma and my hallucinations for all my problems because I can’t always figure out those in close proximity to me. Give me a case and I can predict and measure human responses and inclinations, but ask me how to get my mother to agree to a request and I blank.

I don’t understand my mother. I understand my father to a horrific extent, and I kind of get Ansley, but my mother has always been a landmine.

I’ll be sitting with her at brunch and she’ll wait until I’ve taken a bite of something and then accuse me of some transgression: not taking my meds, not getting enough sleep, not eating right. By the time I chew and swallow, she’s piled up sins, and I just start stammering like a nervous child.

I don’t like it.

I have no idea how to change her, and I’ve tried to up my game, but I don’t know how she knows what she knows or how to go about figuring out how she finds out things.

It reminds me of _The Shining_ when Dick Holleran tells telepathic Danny that “All mothers shine a little.” I feel more comfortable with believing Mother is mildly psychic than believing she can predict my behavior.

And I don’t understand Gil. I don’t understand why I went along with him and let him spank me, I don’t understand why I didn’t fight him off, and I don’t understand why I held still for so long.

And worst of all, in that dark place we all keep hidden, I don’t understand why I felt so much better afterwards.

Not really that night. I was sore and exhausted then and wanted to sleep.

But the next day . . . I was better.

Ugh, so humiliating and embarrassing, but I was better. That tight, vicelike feeling of trying to keep myself together loosened, a spool of dread and fear unwinding into peace and quiet.

I wanted to explore what I was feeling that morning, but Gil was there and insisted on breakfast and then Mother came and they kept talking in that easy, pleasant way that normal people get to have and we ate and had a pretty good breakfast.

We all went to the park later and Gil brought a bagel to feed birds and Ansley showed up (did Mother call her?) and she said bagels were bad for birds so we went to find birdseed. I ended up having lunch with Mother and Ansley when Gil left and then Ansley and I went to see a movie that evening.

I didn’t have time to think about anything until that night, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling. I let my mind replay the night before – Gil finding me, Gil taking me home, Gil bending me over his knee to punish me, Gil putting me to bed.

My stomach was doing an embarrassed flipflop, turning as my cheeks flushed at the memory.

I let my thoughts rove into possibilities. Was I excited, turned-on by the spanking I received?

Not really.

Was I attracted to Gil?

No . . . he was more a father figure. I wanted his approval, his confirmation that I was brilliant and a valuable member of the team, not his romantic interest.

Would I feel excited if someone else spanked me?

Unbidden, the image of Dani came to me.

Dani angry with me, stalking over to me, reaching for me, barking out, “I’ve had enough of this!”

She would sit down and order, “Over my knee, Bright.” And I would lean down obediently to brace myself, and she would raise her hand and bring it down –

The heat that washed over me was so intense, so dizzying, so painfully-sweet that I had to roll on my side in bed. The meds I take often dampen normal sexual responses of guys my age, but I was a thousand percent excited by the thought of Dani spanking me.

I should have kept working on exploring how I felt about Gil punishing me, but I was more engaged with my Dani fantasy. I let myself ride the pleasure as I imagined different scenarios: her with a riding crop in hand, her in revealing clothes, me in revealing clothes, her leaning down to kiss away my tears, me leaning down to kiss up her thigh.

I was asleep before the second orgasm had fully faded.

The next morning, I had to go to work as we had a new case, and now I had two problems: I hadn’t figured out how I felt about Gil spanking me and I had indulged in shameful fantasies about a coworker to the point I could barely concentrate on any task at hand.

The casefiles were on the table when I entered, and Dani was finishing laying out the last paper.

“So we concluded the victim was a prostitute,” Dani said, “but not for very long. Maybe Bright,” a nod in my direction, “can come up with a timeline for her.”

“Maybe,” Gil said. He smiled briefly at her. “Nice job on the fast summation.”

“Thanks,” she quirked a half smile and then left.

I dropped my gaze to avoid looking at her, afraid I was wearing my shame on my face.

“You’re late,” Gil stepped over to the files. “We need a profile on the victim, mainly what she has done for the last two, three years, and why she was in upper Manhattan while she’s clearly dressed for street work.”

“I can do that. Probably in a few hours.”

I wanted him to say “Oh, really? You’re fast” or some comment about my skills, but he just asked,

“Did you eat this morning?”

“No,” I admitted.

“I’ll get you some coffee. You really should come to work ready to work, Bright.”

I allowed myself a glare at his back as he left. It was so unfair. He never praised me, even when I deserved it. I got treated like the red-headed stepchild or the whipping boy around here. He liked to focus on my faults, just like Mother, and I had to go along because he was my boss and had decided to play the role of stern, disapproving father.

I didn’t have to put up with any of this nonsense. I could leave whenever I wanted. This was just a silly job, and I didn’t even know how much it paid because my paychecks were put into a bank account that Mother had control over. I could look at the account, but I didn’t have time to worry over ridiculous things like money when there were killers out there that only I could find.

I wanted to storm out, but Gil was back with coffee so I sat down to read the files.

He handed me the cup, warning, “Careful, it’s hot.”

I took a sip anyway. The burning liquid hurt my tongue, and immediately my eyes stung with tears. I put the cup down, keeping my head down so he couldn’t see my pain.

“Don’t get the cup too close to the edge. It’ll tip off.”

He left without another word.

I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t deal with Gil’s bossiness anymore. I reached towards the cup, and I moved it to stand an inch from the edge of the table.

I felt excitement twist my stomach again. Exhilarating, triumphant, and defiant.

I had felt calmness and relief after the spanking, and I kind of wanted that feeling again, but I concentrated instead on the thrill of being bad. I had acted out against direct orders, and I let myself wallow in the beauty of my resistance.

What else could I do to be bad? I took the coffee and gently tipped the cup until the top spilled over. And then I sat there, gleefully looking at the small mess on the floor.

And I kept going.

For the rest of the day, my misdeeds mounted in number and severity. I mixed up casefile papers, I lost pens and hid my smile while JT and Gil looked for them, I wandered off when Gil wanted to regroup, and I deliberately avoided reading the casefiles so I didn’t have the profile ready at all. And at 4pm, I slipped out without telling anyone where I was going.

Trembling with the audacity of my own daring, I searched for the next act to keep my adrenaline going. All day, the fear of being caught had been growing like a fire, spreading and intensifying with each new bit of defiance. I wanted more. I wanted to feel it surge through me, a reckless disregard of the established rules.

I went into a small grocery store and committed my first crime.

I stole a candy bar and left with it in my pocket, a whole $1.28 lump of chocolate unpaid for. I went into an alley and ripped the paper from the bar. I ate it ferociously.

The wages of my sin tasted glorious. And I wanted more.

I walked up the streets, turning corners and navigating crowds. I jaywalked between cars waiting at lights, smirking when drivers leaned out of their windows to swear at me. I pickpocketed a receipt out of woman’s purse for the sheer sport of it, crumpling it up in my hand and dropping it in a trash can a block later. I felt invincible.

_Was this how my father felt when he was killing?_

The horror of that thought made me stumble, and I almost fell into the man in front of me.

I could not face the implications of my thought; I refused to.

Breaking into a run, I dashed down the sidewalk, leaping around people and zigzagging obstacles on the concrete.

I got home with my heart pounding and my clothes soaking with sweat. Going to the fridge, I downed half a bottle of Evian water. My hands shook, my eyes were rimmed with tears, and a panic attack crawled up my body.

Darkness flickered at the edges of my peripheral vision, and I knew if I looked to the side, I would see the box with the girl in it.

“No!” I yelled in kitchen. “No, I’m not doing that. I’m not playing that game. It isn’t fair. You know it’s not fair. He’s always hard on me. He doesn’t understand me.”

My words sounded pitiful out loud, and I latched onto the rage that followed. I chose rage over the swelling sadness at the back my throat. Rage I could do.

I stomped over to the drawer where I kept the pain drugs and I grabbed up two serious bottles: hydrocodone and oxycodone. I stuffed them into my pocket and I went out, not bothering to lock the door.

I walked west, following the setting sun as it disappeared behind buildings and then reappeared to shine dark gold over street breaks between city blocks.

It wasn’t quite dark, but I felt determined to stay out all night long. Out all night with opiates in my pocket, entering dangerous neighborhoods with high crime rates. I was so badass.

On a street corner, several young guys were loitering. They looked to be late teens, early twenties – all ethnicities with tats and earrings. 

I went right up to them, remembering with a flash of anger the group of young men that Gil had pointed out when he drove me home. He had wanted to embarrass me, but whatever. I would make my own friends.

“Hey,” I grinned at them, “know anyone who wants to buy cotton?”

The guys blinked me.

“You mean codone?” an Asian-looking guy asked.

“Yeah, that,” I shrugged. “Words, right?”

No one moved. One of the three black guys put his hand in his pocket, and the one white guy there was making a fist.

I pulled out the hydrocodone. “Five milligrams, pure Vicodin. No generic stuff.”

“Really?” they came close to look at it. The stench of sweat and pot nearly made me gag, but I shook the little bottle to rattle the white pills. In the light of the setting sun, they seemed almost to glow.

“How much?” one guy asked.

“Twenty a piece.”

I was selling drugs on a street corner. I was unstoppable, uncontainable, Malcolm Bright who defied all attempts to rein him in -

A whoop sounded behind us.

In slow motion, I turned.

I was hallucinating. I had to be hallucinating the blue lights of the cop car.

The guys were yelling behind me, and footsteps were running hard on pavement, but I stared at the flashing lights, mesmerized by the strobing glare that blazed into my eyes, lessened, blazed, lessened – over and over again.

Another whoop, and another car was there.

When the first officer tackled me, I came to the sickening realization that I was not hallucinating. The next realization arrived when I got thrown over the hood of one car and hands searched me. They put the two bottles of drugs on the hood, right in front of my face. I gazed at them, seeing the words Malcolm Bright on both bottles.

No denying here.

I kind of zoned out then. One officer was proclaiming my arrest, another read me my Miranda rights. I always thought the bit about providing a lawyer if I couldn’t afford one was funny; why would the police give you a lawyer that would keep them from asking you questions? I really needed to study more law.

“Sir,” a woman was in front of me. “Sir, do you understand these rights?”

“Yes,” I said dumbly.

“He probably dosed before he went to sell,” another officer said. “We get anyone else?”

“They all scattered, but no good in chasing them. This is Malcolm Bright by his license and the drugs are his. He had intent to sell, but we stopped the transaction so we couldn’t really hold anyone else. This bust is enough.”

Handcuffs closed around my wrists, and someone pulled me off the car.

I saw a male officer look at me curiously. “You know, somehow Malcolm Bright seems familiar. How do I know you, kid?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak without the tears erupting, and I did not want my stint in crime to end with me bawling on a street corner in handcuffs. I wanted to rewind the day. I would not steal the candy bar, I would not leave early, I would not act out, and I would put the coffee cup on the table away from the edge. I would eat breakfast before work, I would not jerk off the night before, and I would face my discomfort with being spanking as an adult should.

Instead of the day rewinding, the sun kept setting.

And I got marched to the car and helped inside.

The closing door sealed my fate with its finality.


	2. Chapter 2

Observation:

Handcuffed in the back of a police car is the ultimate situation to rethink one’s priorities and have an epiphany. I imagine it is one of the best places to reconnect with reality and stop foolish behavior. With my hands trapped behind me, it was too uncomfortable to lean back so I had to lean forward which limited my sight to the back of the drivers’ seat.

My hair, which always fell loose when I was physically distressed, was in my eyes, and though I tried to shake it off, it didn’t move much.

Physically restrained and half-blinded, I scrambled to think of what I should do.

Here’s an honest confession: I do not know much about the end of the criminal justice process. When we’ve caught a bad guy, he or she gets handcuffed (if they’re still alive) and put in a police car and the police car goes off.

What was the process next?

The officer asked, “When we get you in the station and do a drug test, what will we find in your system?”

I tried to lift my head up to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t get it up much past the shoulder of the driver’s seat.

“Um, uh, I’m on some mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics. I have prescriptions for those things. I know I wasn’t supposed to sell my scripts, but this is all a mistake.”

“We have you on dashboard cam. And no one calls them scripts anymore. They’re just opiates.”

Did the entire world have to get on my case about the terms I used?

“Should I call a lawyer?”

“You can,” the officer said. “We still have to process you.”

I tried to picture our family’s lawyers. There were several of them that made me sign papers, and my mother was always there, trying to rush the process and not letting me read what I was signing. She had hovered close, often putting her hand on my arm and whispering for me not to be funny or clever and just sign.

What were the names of the lawyers’ firm? Something name, unpronounceable name, and name I couldn’t spell. Did that narrow the legal firms in New York? And, more importantly, would they call my mother?

The police precinct seemed like a mess compared to the quiet rooms where I work with homicide. Crooked desks and random chairs littered the bullpen, officers and detainees came and went, an ancient AC system rattled in the ceiling, and the air felt chilly and sweaty simultaneously.

I got put in a chair – one that wobbled with the front right leg several millimeters too short – but my hands were put in front of me, cuffed to the desk.

A female officer sat down – maybe the one from the arrest? – and began typing into a computer.

“Okay, name and social.”

I told her.

“Um, you’re already in the system. Malcolm Bright, used to be Whitly, worked as a special agent for the FBI. Now a consultant for NYPD homicide.”

She looked at me, eyes sharp and alert. “Are you undercover? Running a sting?”

I considered. Did I have enough knowledge to pull off an elaborate story of running a sting? Even if I could convince her I was undercover, she would want a superior officer to confirm that.

“Not quite,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sort of searching for difficult information. It’s very complicated.”’

Her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Should I call someone that can verify what you were doing?”

“No, don’t do that.”

She nodded the tiniest bit. “Got it. You want this to appear as exactly what was recorded. I will enter it as an attempt to distribute opiates and we’ll get you processed. I promise I won’t blow your cover.”

She typed lightning-fast into the computer, pausing only to say, “Since I already have information on you and you want me to pretend like you already confessed to the crime, we’re going to get your photos taken and then put you in the holding with all the other arrests bound for Central Booking.

Aghast, I looked at the double holding against one wall. It was divided by gender, and through the bars, maybe twenty men were on one side and ten women on the other. Most of the women looked like prostitutes, a few looked drugged, and one sat on the floor moaning and gyrating back and forth. The men all looked scary. Period.

My hands were trembling as I held up the number sign, I scrambled to think how I should look in the arrest photos. My lips were grimacing back into a smile, and I did not want to look like the Joker or another crazed serial killer in my mugshots. I pushed my lips into a straight line and let the blinding glare of the flash spike into my brain. Then I had to turn to the side.

Next, I was taken to a bathroom to pee in a cup – humiliating – and then the officer brought me back to her desk.

“Almost done,” she typed some more. “Just have to wait for the drug test and then you can hang out in the holding for the evening.”

Please let the drug test say I was dying and needed to be rushed to the hospital.

The phone rang on her desk, and she answered, “Mulligan here.”

A look of surprise crossed her face, and then her forehead creased into frown lines. “Really? That’s the first I ever . . . no, I understand. I can get a room for . . . oh, that can wait too. No problem.”

She murmured a few more agreements and then hung up.

“Okay, Bright, you get put in Room 3 for now.”

I didn’t dare ask why; I let her unlock the cuffs from the desk and followed her along to an empty interview room. She had me sit and locked the cuffs to the table, but this room was quiet and blank, nothing on the walls except for the one-way mirror. She left without a word.

Alone, I willed myself to stay calm and come up with a plan. I could get free of these cuffs because they weren’t tight and a broken thumb was nothing if it meant escaping. I would have to sneak past all the police, delete my file, get out of the building, go to the loft to get my bird and my things, and fly to a place where no one could ever find me. Not a great plan, but if the guys from those Fast and Furious movies could do it, why not me?

I was bracing myself to break out of the cuffs when the door opened.

Dani walked into the room.

“What up, dude?” she smiled.

I felt my cheeks burning as my throat went dry. My fantasies from the night before, her finding me cuffed in a police station, the knowing smirk she wore – I felt wave after wave of embarrassment wash over me.

She took the chair opposite me. “So, watcha doing?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“How did I find you? I’m glad you asked. Ever since you came to work with us, I had a running algorithm that would ping any time you popped up on the news or the internet or our systems.”

“Lucky me,” I tried self-deprecation but she just shook her head.

“I recognize a ticking time bomb when I see one. New York’s a big place and if you get sent to Central Booking, it’s a nightmare getting you out what with the paperwork and the arraignment and the lawyers.”

“You thought I would explode?”

“Nah, just go off the rails a little. You aren’t normal, your situation is screwed up, you’re borderline genius. This,” she waved a hand around the room, “is expected.”

I swallowed, not sure how to take the not-normal comment.

“So, tell me the story. How’d we get here, Bright?”

“I don’t know,” I avoided her eyes. “It’s all a muddle, confusing, and I wasn’t thinking and sometimes it gets to you, you know?”

“Start at the beginning. What was getting to you?”

“Gil.”

“Gil yelled at you?”

“He . . . sort of. He thought I needed to be straightened out.”

“And you didn’t like it?”

“No, not exactly that. I just felt irritated later. I don’t know who I was frustrated with, but then I came in this morning and he was barking out orders.”

Dani set a piercing gaze on me. “Gil was leading the case today like he does every case. He wants me and JT to gather information, Edrisa does physical evidence, and you profile. Only today, you couldn’t deliver a completed profile. Did you think Gil was mad at you for that? Because he wasn’t. He told me and JT to give you space and not tease you.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of Gil telling you what to do?”

“No. He’s my boss so that’s literally his job.”

“Well, I do!”

“Then don’t work for him.”

She had that it’s-all-just-obvious look on her face, and I scowled.

“He was just so smug -”

“Gil’s not smug. He’s the kindest, most caring man I’ve ever known, let alone work for. If all police officers were like him, this world would be way better. I have never worked for a boss so patient and understanding.”

“I wanted to rebel,” the words rushed out of me, and once the dam had cracked, it all poured forth. “It started with little things, but I liked the feeling and I just wanted more. I ran out of rebellious actions to take at work so I went on the streets and moved to crimes. I stole a candy bar, and jaywalked, and ignored all the sidewalk rules, and then I went to sell drugs.”

“You had drugs on you?”

“Fine, opiates. Everyone in this stupid city wants you to be so precise these days.”

“Okay, so you went a little crazy, rebelling like a teenager, and it escalated. It escalated really fast. This is why you have to keep those feelings locked down. It’s hard for us addicts.”

“I – I’m not an addict.”

“Not in the traditional sense. But you have that same addictive behavior that addicts have where you just want more, more, _more_ until you go crazy. That’s why Gil keeps me on a short leash.”

My confusion must have registered on my face because she explained, “After my stint undercover for narcotics went to hell, Gil helped me in rehab. But I betrayed his trust so there were consequences. I take a drug test twice a week, Monday and Thursday, and his rule is that if I know the test will come back with anything positive I have to tell him before he gets the news or I’m off the team. I remember sobbing over the phone with him one week when I ate two poppyseed muffins without thinking and I was terrified I would test positive for opium.”

“So you just live in fear?”

She gave a small smile. “I’m the kind of person who needs a little fear in her life. I need an authority figure to make me walk the line, to draw clear boundaries and enforce them when I can’t make them myself. Left to my own devices, with all my addict impulses, I’m a mess. Gil helps keep me straight.”

“How does Gil . . .” I trailed off.

She shook her head. “No doing. That’s between just the two of us.”

She pushed the chair back and put her shoes up on the edge of the table. “Let’s talk about your options here. I see you have three.”

“Three?”

“Yeah, here they are. One, we do nothing. You get booked, you get a lawyer, no special treatment, and we see you on the other side. Eventually. In maybe seven to ten years.”

“And the other plans?”

“Two, you resign from the team, I call your mother, she gets you a fancy lawyer, and you go to live with her because she no longer trusts you.”

“Pass.”

“Three, I call Gil, he comes and sorts this out, you go home tonight but answer to him.”

The room fell silent. In misery, I moaned, “Can we go back to number one again?”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust Central Booking to take care of you. You don’t have cop written all over you, but you do have the privileged white boy with expensive clothes look and they tend to come out with some bruises.”

“Ugh,” I groaned and leaned forward to rest my forehead on my hands. “How bad do you think number two would be?”

Dani mimed picking up a phone. “Hi, Mom, I felt rebellious today against the kind man who gave me a job after I got kicked out of the FBI, and I was a brat at work today. Then I committed some crimes and got arrested. Do we have a good lawyer that could get me out of prison without the news appearing in the paper? Mom, please stop screaming.”

“Fine, call Gil. Wake him up in the middle of the night.”

“Dude, it’s not even nine yet.”

“What? No, it has to be way later than that.”

“No, you committed a crime in broad daylight. I chatted with the arresting officer Mulligan and she said you looked suspicious on the street and she tailed you for five blocks only to watch you approach kids on a corner and pull pill bottles out of your coat. All in broad daylight.”

“Maybe I can plead insanity.”

“That would be your best bet, but do you want to take option number four, life in an asylum?”

“Call Gil.”

I wished I could leave the room or disappear while she made the call, but at the same time, I knew I had to listen to what she said so I could prepare myself for the impending storm.

She pulled out her cellphone, tapped the screen twice, and then raise the phone to her ear. “Hey, Gil, it’s Dani.”

I couldn’t hear his reply, but she said,

“Oh, not much. I’m at the 10th Precinct. Bright’s been arrested for intent to distribute. . . Some kind of opiates. They had his name on them. . . He says he was feeling rebellious.”

She jerked the phone away from her ear, and even I could hear Gil’s “What!?”

“It’s okay. I got here, the arresting officer thinks he’s undercover on a sting, nothing’s been processed yet. We are awaiting orders, Boss Man.”

Her attempt at humor had no effect. A second later, she put the phone on the table, saying, “You’re on speaker now.”

“Malcolm,” Gil’s voice made my stomach flip, “do not say another word to the officers. Dani, stay with him. Stall until I get there. If Malcolm proves unstable, you may use whatever means necessary to keep him silent. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Dani mock saluted.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

The beep signaled the end of the call.

Dani pocketed the phone, commenting, “Hear that? Dad says you have to behave or I get to punch you again.”

I slumped back in my chair, blinking away tears.

“Oh, come on,” she pressed a warm hand over my freezing, shaking fingers. “Let me have fun in the sister bit who likes watching the other kids get in trouble with the parents. You have no idea how many times I wish JT would act out so I could rub it in. It’s no fun being the only one who’s broken Gil’s trust.”

“Is this teasing me?” I managed a wobbly smile. “Getting the younger brother into trouble?”

“No, you got yourself into trouble all by yourself. It’s a nice balance to the universe – a brilliant mind but no impulse control. And it’s teasing now, but when Gil gets here, I’ll stand up for you. I owe you that much.”

She stood up. “I’m going to scout around for a blanket, and maybe find some cocoa for you. No coffee. You’re jittery enough already.”

She was back in minutes holding a steaming cup of cocoa with a blanket over one arm. She even tucked the blanket around me and blew on the cocoa before holding it up for me to take a sip.

“Careful. It’s hot.”

With my wrists cuffed, I let her hold the cup while I sipped. The one shining bit of this awful mess was how nice it felt for someone to take care of me. My mother tried, but I was too wary to ever relax with her. Ansley was too much a younger sister and expected to me to look out for her as I had always done.

But Dani’s calm confidence soothed the edges of my frazzled feelings, allowing for a moment of quiet calm before Gil arrived.

“What are the chances,” I mused out loud, “that JT will commit a horrible crime in the next five minutes and it will distract Gil long enough so I can just disappear?”

“Gambling’s not one of my addictions, but I would say not good.”

I tried one of my dazzling smiles, but it felt all shaky on my face.

She gave me a sympathetic smile and raised the cup back up. One last sip for the condemned man.


	3. Chapter 3

The door opened and Gil walked in.

He stood in the doorway, expression between confused and frustrated, looking back and forth from Dani to me.

“Hey, boss,” Dani tried levity, “how’s it going?”

“You picked up Bright in a drug deal?”

“No, I got a tip that he had been picked up. Got to keep tabs on my little brother, right?”

“He’s older than you.”

“Maybe in years.”

Gil did not appreciate her flippancy. He shut the door and approached the table. “Someone explain to me what is going on right now.”

I wanted to respond, but my heart was racing. Darkness clouded the edges of my peripheral, and I fear if I looked to the side I would see the box that haunted my nightmares. I was trembling, but Dani put her hand over mine and squeezed firmly.

“Bright is having troubles with boundaries. He was upset about you getting onto him the other day, and he didn’t exercise good self-control.”

Gil crossed his arms. “I’m not interested in summations. Tell me what happened step by step. You disappeared early this afternoon,” sternly at me, “and left your phone,” he lifted my cellphone out of his own pocket, “and didn’t contact me. I thought you needed space to profile. Did you try to set up an experiment on the streets? A dangerous, unapproved experiment with opiates?”

“Not exactly,” I managed.

Gil’s face grew even more displeased. “Is this a political thing? You were trying to entrap the police or draw attention to drug profiling?”

“Ah, no,” I stammered.

“You were trying to get arrested? You know an inmate who has information we need, and you thought you could pose as a dealer and go undercover inside the system?”

Wow, Gil had much more faith in my persistence to solve cases than I apparently did.

“I think,” Dani spoke up, “that Bright could do all things if he needed to.”

Gil didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on me.

“I just went a little crazy,” I whispered.

“You’re off your meds? Do we need to get you to a psychiatrist or have a doctor examine you? Which medications did you stop taking?”

“No.”

“Is it your father? Did you go see him and he upset you so bad you had an episode? Did you hallucinate more of his murders?

Tears stung my eyes. Dani was right – Gil was so kind and caring, concerned for my wellbeing instead of launching into a diatribe.

“I’ll tell you,” I swallowed. “Just – just let me get through it.”

Gill took the last chair, leaning back in it with that calm, patient demeanor he employed whenever frustrated by a case or, more often, by me. Dani squeezed my hands once last time and pulled back.

“I don’t know why I did it,” I confessed, staring down at my wrists. “I just started acting out and I couldn’t stop. I did little things around work to annoy you, but no one was noticing so I left. And then I stole a candy bar and was erratic on the streets, but I thought maybe this was how my father felt when going on his killing sprees and it freaked me out. I went home but I was a mess and I remembered you didn’t want me out late and you warned me about having too many prescriptions. I don’t know what happened – I took the meds and went out and I tried to sell them.”

I broke off. The only sound was my wet breathing as I tried not to cry.

Gil had frozen in what I could only describe as stunned horror.

A small scrapping sound made me look up.

Dani was halfway out of her chair, and she admitted, “Just leaving. Cuz – awkward. It sounds awful the way he put it.”

Gil gave her a look, and she sunk back into her chair.

“Okay, I’ll stay. But under protest.” She had her hands partly up as if ready to cover her ears in case of yelling.

“So in short,” Gil’s quiet wrath was frightening, “because you wanted to push boundaries, you engaged in a series of acts that spiraled out of control into actual crimes. You were that angry with me?”

“No,” I tried to lean forward, but the handcuffs caught me, “no, I’m not angry. I started the day wrong. I came in and you were praising Dani and then snapping at me . . .”

“Dani had been there since 6am, working tirelessly on the case to get ready for profiling. I told her good job because she had worked fast and professional. You strolled in at 10, late and having not eaten, and you wanted praise?”

My ears burned red.

Dani looked longingly at the door. “So awkward,” she groaned.

Gil ignored her. “You hadn’t done anything to be praised. Did you want me to fawn all over your genius before you had done anything? I already recognize your talent – you’re a consultant for me!”

“I was confused!”

“No, Malcolm,” stern and direct, “I’m the one who is confused. You were acting out. If you want to push boundaries and explore steps of adolescent development that you didn’t get to experience because of your unique situation growing up, we can do that. You are welcomed to behave like a brat in your freetime and I will respond in whatever way you find most constructive. But you do not do it on the job. And you do not do it with actual crimes. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered before I realized I had spoken.

“You come from wealth and privilege, and with your genius and aptitude for profiling, there are far too many rules bent and broken to accommodate you. Another kid pulling this stunt would go to prison, and the fact that you didn’t think of the unfairness of your actions, how you get to skirt around real consequences, makes me angry and disappointed.”

If he had slapped me across the face, I couldn’t have felt worse. Dani was cringing in her seat, hunching down as if she wanted to disappear.

Gil stood up. “I’m fixing this, and then I’m taking you home. Dani, get him ready to come up with a story about how he was testing the availability of solicitation on the streets, but he wasn’t prepared and was afraid of being called a narc so he switched it to distribution of opiates to keep his cover. I’m going to talk to the sergeant here and I might have to put in a few calls, but that’s the story we’re running with. Bright’s got the absentminded professor genius vibe and doesn’t think through his approach to solving cases – we’re going to sell that.”

“You think they’ll buy it?” Dani asked.

“They should. We started this whole profiling cases with him cutting off a suspect’s hand. We’ll lean into the craziness,” Gil left with that shot.

“That . . . was . . . horrible,” Dani made a face. “I thought it would be fun to see you chewed out, but it’s only fun at work when you do little things he doesn’t like. It’s stress relief, sort of. We tease you and Gil sighs and shakes his head, but that – that look he had. It was the same when I went to rehab.”

“He yelled at you then?”

“Well, I was undercover on a case and thought I could handle a little heroin to prove I was legit to the bad guys. Gil was upset I compromised my health to try to work the case. You are just pushing boundaries for fun.”

I glared at her and lifted my cuffed hands. “Does this look fun to you?”

“Hey, don’t get short with me. I’m the only person here that can put in a good word for you. You want me to remind Gil of other crimes you’ve committed like going after criminals like a vigilante?”

I couldn’t think of a good retort so I just lowered my head over my hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay,” she put her hands on my shoulders, “I won’t throw you under the bus. Hold it together and we can work on the story that he wants us to give.”

For the next twenty minutes, Dani coached me on the made-up story Gil had designed. I could see how she worked well undercover as the pressure of inventing convincing lies did not faze her. After establishing my story, she had me respond back:

“Why were you on the streets?”

“I was trying to collect information for our murder case.”

Followed by, “Why did you approach the kids on the street?”

“I wanted to try several solicitation techniques so I could under the victim better.”

“She was a prostitute. Were you approaching them to offer sex?”

With a straight face that matched hers, I answered, “I didn’t think about the differences in our genders because I was desperate for answers.”

The door opened, and Gil looked in, raising his eyebrows in question.

“We got your story down,” Dani assured him.

“We need to sign a few papers and then we can go,” Gil said.

When the officers finally came in to unlock my cuffs and return my wallet and coat, Gil and Dani stood close. They navigated me through the bullpen, flanking my sides. I felt like a puppet between them, but I did not dare make a joke about having “no strings on me.”

I answered questions using the answers Dani had drilled into me, and I did not say one word past the short, necessary replies. The last place we stopped was the chief’s office. Gil had his hand on my arm as he said,

“We’re leaving now, sir. We just wanted to apologize one last time.”

I felt his squeeze, and I looked up to say, “So sorry, sir.”

The chief nodded. “I hope this is a lesson to you. I’ve read about your team’s work, but laws are laws.”

“Of course, sir,” I returned his nod. “Will never happen again.”

“Good man.”

I didn’t know if that praise was towards Gil or me, but I didn’t have time to figure out because Gil and Dani pulled me out of the office.

“Head down, don’t say anything,” Gill murmured as we walked towards the door. “Dani, pleasant smile. Keep moving, keep moving.”

When we were outside and down the steps, Dani leaned forward and gasped in a lungful of air. “Oh my god, that was nerve-racking. Can I leave? I swear to you, Gil, I will never disobey you ever. Ever, ever. Just let me go.”

“You can go,” Gil said. “Thank you for helping. You’re a team player.”

“Thanks,” she quirked her usual half-smile. And then she left so fast I thought she was running down the sideway.

Gil put a hand on my shoulder and angled me towards his car. I got in, shut the door, buckled, and, the minute he got in the driver’s seat, burst out,

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was just out of control, and I’m not bratty anymore, and I’m not my father, and please don’t tell my mother.”

“Settle down,” Gil started the car. “We’re going to talk at your place, but I need you to be calm while I’m driving. Can you sit still and think about why I’m disappointed with you?”

Gil drove the car, and I fought against tears the whole way. I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth and bit down just hard enough to hurt a little, but my breath kept catching in my chest. The darkness edged back into my vision, but I fought against it.

“Keep breathing, kid,” Gil told me. “I know you’re upset but I need you to keep breathing.”

When he finally stopped the car, I got out, dizzy and hyperventilating.

“Keys?” he held out his hands.

I shook my head.

Gil tried the door and, finding it unlocked, gave a slight hiss of disapproval.

We went inside, and I blurted out,

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Go ahead.”

I stumbled to the bathroom. I turned the light on, splashed water on my face, and gripped the edge of the sink while the blackness crept in the sides of my visions. I knew the box was in the room with me. I could hear it rattle on the floor, the body inside trying to get out.

“No, no,” I felt sweat trickling down my back. “I won’t look. No, no, no-”

“Malcolm?” Gil rapped on the door. “Malcolm, are you all right?”

I couldn’t move. If I stepped towards the door, I knew the box would open and her hand would grab my ankle.

The door opened, but I had my eyes screwed tight as I gripped the sink for dear life.

“Don’t let the box open,” I whispered. “Don’t let it open, don’t let it, don’t let it, please –”

Water splashed on my face.

I jerked back to see Gil holding a dripping cup.

I touched the water running down my face as I stared at him.

“You are not hallucinating tonight,” Gil stated. “No one is in this bathroom or this loft except you and me. There is no box here. If you keep freaking out, I will splash you with more water. If you make me call an ambulance because you are working yourself into hysterics, you will be in even more trouble. I got you out of jail, but you do not get to get out of our talk.”

Gil stepped out of the bathroom and motioned for me to follow.

I trailed after him, wondering if I should change out of my partially-damp shirt now or later.

Gil motioned me to sit on the sofa, and I did, rubbing my face dry with my sleeve.

“All right,” Gill rubbed a hand over his eyes and blinked in tired resignation, “let’s talk.”

He sat in a chair close to the sofa, near enough that he could reach me. “First of all, I want to say I’m sorry.”

I blinked. Was his apology part of my hallucination?

He went on, “Two nights ago, I brought you back here and reprimanded you. I was frustrated at you and punished you like a child. You went along with it, but you could have felt pressured to go along because I’m your boss and your father figure. I stayed the night so we could talk in the morning, but it was awkward. Then your mother came, and we all went out, and you wanted to go to lunch with your family, and you seemed so happy for once that I hated to pull you out of it. I should have called you last night and asked how you processed the whole punishment ordeal. I should have asked you this morning when you came in.”

I stayed still, not knowing what to say.

“When I was young, my father and mother punished me for various things,” Gil leaned back, his face solemn with memories from long ago. “However they chose to reprimand me, I knew that when it was over, the slate was wiped clean. I didn’t need to rehash anything with them because our relationship was solid. You didn’t have that security because I didn’t let you process it like an adult. It didn’t help anything -”

“No!” I shook my head. “No, Gil, it did. You were right. I mean, it hurt, but afterward all the craziness and noise inside my head, it all just went away. I could sleep without nightmares and I felt so much better the next day. I did try to process it last night, but I got off on it instead.”

He glanced at me in concern, and I assured him,

“Not like that. I started thinking about . . . Dani. Her – well, with me, and it just spiraled.”

“You feel guilty about fantasizing over a coworker?”

“Maybe?”

Gil looked up at the ceiling, exhausted. “Am I going to have to go through every step of adolescence with you? You’re allowed to fantasize about people, but it can’t affect work. You can rebel but it -”

“Can’t affect work. Yes, yes, I know.”

“Good,” he kept looking at the ceiling. “You’re suspended for two weeks.”

“What!?”

He straightened. “Two weeks, no cases. I’m ridding this place of most drugs, and you are forbidden from coming to work for two weeks.”

“No! The case!”

“We’ll figure it out without you.”

“No, you need me. You can’t suspend me.”

“As your boss, I have every right to do so. I probably should end your consultation completely, but I am partly to blame for physically punishing you and then not reaching out. Two weeks suspension for getting you out of jail – fair trade.”

“No, no, Gil,” I grabbed onto the arm of the sofa. “Listen. I can’t do that. I’ll go crazy here without something to do. I’ll hallucinate and freak out and I need to be around you. And Dani. And JT and Edrisa and everyone there. I kept acting out today because -” I hesitated and then took the plunge -“because I wanted someone to stop me. I thought just one more act of disobedient would help me and I thought the adrenaline was the best feeling ever. But it wasn’t. The best feeling was after you spanked me and you held me and I could just be. I didn’t have to act or pretend or read for clues. I could just let it out and let go.”

He looked me in quiet contemplation so I kept going,

“And then you got me to bed and I slept. It felt so good. The next morning, I wanted to say thank you but I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed I had agreed to be spanked and I was embarrassed I had cried and I was embarrassed that it had helped so much. I didn’t like it when it happened, but it did help.”

“No, it was a bad idea. It’s practically assault and I didn’t handle it well after and -”

“No, you were perfect. I was the one out of control.”

“Exactly.”

“But that’s me!” I flung my arms out. “I’m the son of a serial killer who works for the guy whom my dad tried to kill. I’m the nut-ball headcase who sees things and can’t remember what actually happened all those years ago. I’m the adult man whose mother has a maid shop for him and clean his apartment. If you were to ever make an exception for someone being not normal, it’s me.”

Gil gave his tired sigh, and I shrugged off the guilt I felt at being so difficult for him to manage.

“Dani told me that you keep her on a short leash after the drug mishap. She told me it was good for her to have a little fear, and maybe I need that too. I will never do any of the things I did today again because waiting for you in that police station was awful.”

“You want me to punish you?” Gil went straight to the point.

My face was warm with embarrassment, but I stammered, “Uh, yes.”

“Spank you and forego the suspension?”

“I don’t want to be suspended and I don’t want to be spanked, but I can’t handle your . . . disapproval.” The last word felt weak compared to the enormity of emotion I experienced in the complexity of my feelings towards the man who had been the best boss and father I could ask for.

“I will take any punishment you deem necessary,” I continued, “and I promise I will call you immediately whenever I feel bratty again. Just don’t shut me out.

Gil considered me for several long moments. “Fine, you’re right. You would burn this town to the ground if I left you on your own for two weeks. I’ll spank you tonight, and we’re going to have a very long talk in my office tomorrow about appropriate behavior for a consultant of NYPD homicide. But this is all contingent on one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You are going to go take a shower, brush your teeth, and get ready for bed. If you can do all that without freaking out or hallucinating, I’ll follow through. But I can’t take your consent for this punishment if I think you’re hysterical or seeing things. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded.

“You can keep the bathroom door open if it helps, but I need you to act like a responsible adult.”

I nodded again, stood up, and went into the bathroom.

My stomach did little flipflops as I stripped and scrubbed down in the hot water, but I ignored it as mere apprehension. While brushing my teeth, a little of the blackness returned around my vision. I ignored it as well, and when I went to spit and rinse, I wasn’t scared to straighten and look in the mirror. No horrific mutilation appeared behind me in the mirror, and I wiped my face clean with the hand towel.

Despite having asked for a punishment, I delayed it by several seconds by choosing clothes to sleep in. I usually sleep in a tee shirt and loose pants, but I felt all three of my sleeping pants, trying to figure out which was the thickest. I toyed with wearing shorts underneath, but Gil might make me pull the pants down then, and I did not want him to have a go at my thighs again.

While I dressed, I glanced down at him, but he didn’t notice. He sat, typing emails into his phone, calm and patient as ever.

Once dressed, I went, trying not to drag my steps, down to the living room area and stopped in front of him.

Once bracing breath, one curse at the gods of fate who had made me this way, and then,

“I’m ready.”


End file.
